If You Can't Beat 'Em
by Princess Alyra
Summary: Dean and Sam go to another Supernatural convention because of important hunter reasons. Sam discovers the Destiel panel and is enjoying himself just a little too much. Dean mostly wants to commit mass homicide.


If someone had told Dean before the whole Chuck thing that he would someday attend a convention all about his and Sam's lives, he would have laughed, asked for a bit of whatever that person was smoking, and moved on with his life. If someone had told Dean after the whole Chuck thing that he would someday attend said convention for a second time, he would have threatened to shoot them and politely suggested that they find something better than those shitty _Supernatural_ books to read.

And yet here he is at a _Supernatural_ convention. Again.

Of course, there's a legitimate _reason_, and they could hardly have not come to investigate the possibility that angels are disguising themselves as _Supernatural_ fans to seek out new vessels, but walking around in a sea of people wearing plaid and loudly discussing their "feels" about Sam and Dean still makes Dean's skin crawl.

"Nice cosplay!" a guy wearing a serape calls to him. Dean glares, and serape-guy hurries away.

He and Sam have split up, because despite the fact that this is the most unpopular book series in creation, this Godforsaken convention is huge. Every single person who ever read those books must have been there, dragging unwitting friends, family members, and pets along. Dean hates every single one of them and vows to burn every copy of every book he sees, because damn it, his life isn't a friggin' cheesy novel, and even if it were, shouldn't he be the one getting the royalties for it?

In any case, Dean is attending the "Flawed Hunting Techniques of Sam and Dean" and silently gritting his teeth every time someone pipes up with ways they think they can improve hunting, such as "bringing 'Christo' back" and "saving the exorcism chant as their ringtone" and "offering heavily salted cookies to everyone they come in contact with." Dean is pretty sure the last one is a joke. He hopes it is, anyway.

"Too bad demons aren't even our biggest problem anymore," he mutters under his breath. "Let's see you keep the contiguous United States from falling to monsters, see how much better you do." Besides, they don't really need "Christo" when they have Cas. Dean does, begrudgingly, make a mental note to mention the ringtone thing to Sam. Sam's nerd enough to think that's a cool idea.

All in all, it's a terrible fifty-two minutes of Dean's life (he checks his watch repeatedly to note every second he's wasting surrounded by these morons), and to boot, he doesn't see a single suspiciously angelic person in the crowd. Fifty-two minutes locked in this room with a tremendous amount of body heat and useless chatter about salty cookies leaves him cranky as hell by the time someone opens the door and the sweet breath of freedom finds its way into Dean's lungs.

He meets up with Sam in the main hall, where the host is desperately trying to set up a Powerpoint up front. A couple of lanky guys in glasses run to his aid.

"Anything?" Sam asks.

"Squat," Dean replies glumly. "Except for a couple of jokers who think we should fight demons with pastry, and _what the hell_ are you holding?"

"Wh- This?" Sam holds the paper he's holding flat against his chest so Dean can't read it. "Just a, um - pamphlet. From the panel. Plus a keychain, because, you know, free merch."

"And you're _keeping_ it?" Dean demands. He didn't even taken one at his panel. That would show them. "Yours must've been a hell of a lot better than mine if you want a friggin' _souvenir_. What was yours, anyway? 'Ways Sam and Dean's Sex Life Could be Improved'? Or was it 'We're All Pathetic Nerds Who Wouldn't Recognize a Demon if it had Horns and a Pitchfork'?"

Sam ignores his fuming. "No, it was the, uh - the Destiel panel."

Dean stares at him blankly. "What the hell is a 'Destiel'? A whole convention about you and me, you'd think I'd at least know what they're talking about. What is it, a name? Do you know somebody named Destiel? 'Cause I sure as hell don't." Sam opens his mouth, closes it, then just shakes his head. "Sounds almost like someone took my name and Cas's name and just-" He stops. He narrows his eyes. Sam grimaces and shrugs his shoulders. "_No._"

"Dean."

"No way in hell. There's seriously a whole _panel_ about me and Cas being - what - being-"

"Together," Sam finishes, rudely cutting off Dean's perfectly justified spluttering. "Yeah."

"And you, what, you're _supporting_ them?" Dean is pretty sure he is not overreacting. Sam is most definitely underreacting. He's actually not really reacting at all, just weathering the storm that is Dean's disbelief. "With the pamphlet, and the - the _keychain_!"

Sam shrugs again. "Better Destiel than Wincest, don't you think?"

_"Wincest?!"_

"You remember. You know, me, you..." Finally Sam has the decency to look vaguely disturbed.

"'Course I remember, it's been a recurring nightmare of mine, but I didn't realize they had a friggin' _name_ for it. _Wincest_." Dean blanches. "That's it, I'm gargling holy water tonight. Just tell me they didn't get you to actually _believe_ that Cas and I... that we..." He jerks his head by way of explanation.

Sam remains silent. After a bit too uncomfortably long of a pause, he looks down at his paper.

"...Sam," Dean says dangerously. "Answer the question."

"Well," Sam says noncommittally, and Dean glares at him, because that is not how one starts a sentence assuring one's brother that the crazy slash fans have not addled his mind. Sam backtracks a little. "I mean, I don't think you and Cas have been secretly running off to have romantic picnics-" Dean blanches again- "but they do have some good points."

"Enlighten me," Dean growls.

Sam consults his paper, which must be a list of all the things that make Dean and Cas super gay for each other. All the _false_ things, Dean amends in his head. All the totally crap things. "First of all, you've got the soulful staring. There's page numbers cited, but since we don't own any of the books, I can't really look those up. Not that it matters. Dean, do you even realize the amount of time you spend just... _looking_ at Cas?"

"Glaring," Dean insists, "_glaring_ at Cas. He's kind of a dick, if you hadn't noticed."

"Right. Fine, how about all the times you've straight-up flirted with him? No, shut up, just listen to these actual things you've said to him, starting with 'Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that, I got laid.'"

Dean only vaguely remembers saying this. But it was definitely a joke. "C'mon, man, you know that's just my sparkling sense of humor."

Sam snorts. "Okay, then, how about this: 'There are two things that I know for certain. One: Bert and Ernie are gay. Two: You are not gonna die a virgin. Not on my watch.'"

"I didn't mean _I_ was gonna deflower the poor bastard!" Dean cries. "I just meant _someone_ had to make sure the dude knew what an orgasm felt like before we all bit the dust!"

Speaking of bastards, Sam is smirking, and Dean feels a strong urge to punch him. Lightly, though. Just enough to make him not be able to talk ever again.

"Look, Dean, it's all in good fun, right? If Cas is just a friend, that's totally cool. But if you ever want to, I don't know, embrace the deeply homosexual side of your relationship..." His mouth twitches. Dean is forcibly reminded of soulless Sam, because only soulless Sam has ever been this level of asshole to him.

Dean throws his hands up in the air. "Damn it, Sammy, if you want to prance around with the fangirls and scream about mine and Cas's 'profound bond' or whatever, then you can stay here on angel duty while I go grab _so much beer_, and _why_ are you looking at me like that?"

That stupid smirk is back. "Dean, I never said anything about the profound bond. You realize that's practically the trademark of Destiel, right? Kind of adorable that you remember it."

Dean storms away and leaves Sam laughing by himself.

What is wrong with these people? Can't a guy just be friends with another dude without reading into it as some subtextual gay romance? Dean is _not_ gay for Cas. He has a profoundly platonic relationship with him, thank you very much. He's not some chick who's gonna throw himself at an angel because it's "just so _romantic_" to fall in love with the all-powerful handsome guy who rescued him from hell. He is straight, damn it, no matter how perfectly cheesy of a romance novel that would make, or how many little moments with Cas his crappy memory has somehow managed to keep intact, or how many times he's gotten a little distracted by the intense blue of Cas's eyes, or... or...

"Aw, _hell_," Dean groans out loud, and mentally curses Sam and the whole Goddamn _Destiel_ panel. If it wasn't for those miserable wretches, he could have gone his _whole damn life_ without realizing that, well.

Maybe he is just a tiny bit in love with Cas. Slightly. Maybe.

He's going to kill Sam.


End file.
